Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2016
His mannerisms were peculiar,
His tendencies uncomfortable.
But he held himself as if
the world could never hurt him
And she found beauty in each of his flaws.
Slowly she rooted nearer him
Until she was a vine attached
at every point of his sturdy character.
She was a disease;
He was an evergreen, immune to her venom.
Written by
Amanda
339
   ryn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems